


The Accidental Hacker

by CatWinchester



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Confusion, F/M, Geeky, Stranger - Freeform, Texting, Webcams, Wrong number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harri is asked to remotely install webcam software on her mother’s computer, she accidentally logs onto the wrong computer and ends up chatting with the stranger. She doesn’t know it yet, but the computer belongs to none other than Tom Hiddleston.</p><p>When will she figure out that he isn’t just a random stranger but one of her celebrity crushes, and the star of a few her racier day dreams.</p><p>Written in the first person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

I logged onto team viewer and quickly entered the details for my mum’s computer. She’d been having problems (when doesn’t she) and this software allowed me to access her desktop remotely, which saved me a whole lot of time travelling, not to mention money. As a starving artist, I can't exactly afford to take the train back to Ipswich once a week.

Once logged on, I noticed that her desktop looked a little different than I remembered, the icons had changed a bit and there was a new program or two, but I was just hoping she hadn’t buggered anything up installing them. You’re unable to see the wallpaper using team viewer, so despite the changes, I had no idea it wasn’t her computer.

Once I had the desktop up, I navigated to google, downloaded the webcam chat program, YouChat, and installed it. She had been badgering me to find her something like facetime but for her PC, apparently she wanted to use it to talk to her non iPhone using friends, like me (the iPhone is a luxury this starving artist isn’t willing to scrimp for).

I suggested skype, of course, but she had used that once a few years ago and after a billing problem, had refused to ever use it again. My mother might not know her hard drive from her headphones, but she sure knew how to be stubborn and once she disliked something, that was it, she would never even try it again.

YouChat was a free, open source service that didn’t offer phone calls to landlines, only internet webcam chats, so there shouldn’t be any billing problems to worry about.

Once installed, I opened the program and set myself up as her first contact, giving myself the contact name of Dr Horrible. She wouldn’t get it but she was used to be being ‘weird’ and never let it be said that I disappoint her in that respect. I gave her the username Captain Hammer, and I knew she’d have the devil’s own time changing that without my help.

With that done, I opened a word doc and left it open on the desktop, to let her know she could start using the software with anyone else who had installed it, so long as she got their contact details from them. I also included full instructions for how to set up a contact, how to call them and how to end the call.

Then I logged off Team Viewer and waited for her to text me asking who Dr Horrible was.

I didn’t hear anything for ten hours, which was odd, then I had a notification pop up on my screen saying that Captain Hammer was trying to call me. I clicked on the box, smiling as it opened.

“No need to thank me, it’s what good daughters do.”

Then I saw who was on my screen and my smile faded away. The lighting wasn’t very good but it definitely wasn’t my mum. Not even the same gender, in fact.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Except I’m not in your mum’s home calling her daughter at nearly midnight, am I? Are you a burglar or just the newest in her line of dodgy boyfriends?”

“Dodgy boyfriends?” he parroted back at me.

“Yes, that’s what I said. I really don’t care if you’re on the dole, with recession and all that it can't always be helped, but please tell me you were bright enough to leave school with some O’Levels, at least.”

“Sorry, darling, no O’Levels for me.”

“Fantastic,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “At least tell me you aren’t on parole.”

“Definitely not on parole,” he laughed, which irritated me. “And I have GSCEs, not O’Levels.”

“Oh sweet Jesus, she’s a cougar.” I buried my head in my hands.

“If it helps, I also have A’levels and a degree.”

My head shot up. “In what, Reality TV Studies?”

“No, Classics, actually.”

“What, as in ancient Rome and Greece?”

“Exactly!” I could see his teeth as he grinned. They were very nice teeth, straight, white and that smile… well, I could see why she’d fallen for him, even if half his face was in shadow.

“Okay,” Maybe this one wasn’t such a loser. “So do you have a steady job?”

“I’m not sure it qualifies as steady.”

Of course. What use was a classics degree in modern life. He’d probably run up massive student loans and now couldn’t get a job.

“Do you at least have a profession?” I asked, teetering between hope that maybe although young, this one might be decent, and fear that she had found a younger version of Terry the Tosser.

“I’m an actor, darling.”

My head fell to the desk, only saved from a serious concussion by landing on my forearms.

“Fantastic,” I groaned. “Don’t tell me, you are the back end of a donkey in this year’s Cinderella pantomime.”

“Are you calling me an ass?” he sounded amused.

“If the shoe fits,” I muttered. “Although technically, I called you an ass’s ass.”

“Are you quite all right?” he asked.

I raised my head from my arms to see him peering at he, he’d gotten a lot closer to the screen so I could see even less of him now, and his features were no clearer.

“Fine,” I huffed. “Just promise me that whatever you and she get up to, I never hear about.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a hard promise to keep.”

“Good. And if you hurt her, I know a hundred untraceable ways to poison someone.”

“That sounds fascinating.”

“It’s not. Now is my mum there, I’d like to talk to her.”

“Well that’s the thing, I don’t actually know who your mother is.”

“The woman who brought you home, probably from a pub, and has been lavishing food and attention on you ever since.”

“Well, the thing is, there is no one like that in my life right now.”

“Then why are you on her computer?”

“I’m not.”

I checked the name on the window. “You are Captain Hammer, and that is the username I set my mum up with earlier today.”

“Yes, I can see that, and you’re Doctor Horrible. You’re certainly living up to your name but unfortunately, this is my computer, not your mother’s, and I have no idea how this program got onto my machine. I thought it was a practical joke.”

I frowned. “Did you find a word document open on your desktop?”

“Yes. I used the instructions on it to call you.”

“But you don’t know anyone called Teresa?”

“Nope, I’m afraid not.”

“Do you have team viewer installed?” I asked.

“Yes, I have a friend who uses it to fix glitches for me from time to time.”

I fumbled about for my slip of paper with Mum’s log in details.

“Would you mind opening it, please?” I felt like a right twit for having insulted him for the past five minutes, so I was being extra nice.

“Done,” he answered.

“Is your computer I.D. tw1989 and password 133548?” I read out the details I had.

“No, it’s TW1 _898_. Password 133 _45_ 8.”

“Bloody, stupid, shitting dyslexic brain!” I punctuated each insult by hitting my forehead with the heel of my hand.

“Hey, stop that! Your brain is clearly in enough trouble as it is, don’t go killing off more brain cells.”

Did he just insult me? I couldn’t help the small smile that graced my lips. “Touché, sir.”

He grinned at me again. I really wished there was more light on him, I’d like to see him properly. He sounded nice, and he’d certainly taken my insults well.

“I’m so sorry for that rant earlier.”

“No offence taken, darling. I take it you and your mother have a strained relationship?”

“That’s one way to put it. The other is that she drives me crazy, but I still love her.”

“Isn’t that what family is for?”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a smile.

An uncomfortable silence formed and just as I was about to say goodnight, he spoke up again.

“Do I take it from the usernames that you’re a Joss Whedon fan?”

“Pretty much. I don’t claim to be a die hard fan or anything, but his writing and TV shows are all pretty fantastic. I guess you must be too, to know those names.”

“You could say that. And I do admire his work.” I thought he had this small smirk on his lips but the light was too poor to see properly.

“I hope he gets makes a sequel to Dr Horrible soon. I mean, I love the marvel movies and everything, but Horrible has a lot of potential and I’d hate to see it go nowhere.”

“I’m sure he’ll find the time eventually. I understand that all the songs are already written.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too. And I mean, Marvel is his big break so I can’t begrudge him his success there; he’ll be able to do whatever he wants once his contract is over.”

“That’s certainly true. That franchise has given a lot of relative unknowns a bright future.”

“They make good movies,” I replied, as if it should be obvious. “Okay, some are better than others, Thor 2 was a bit mediocre for example, but The Avengers and Guardians of the Galaxy were epic. So was Captain America 2, but I’m not as keen on that character.”

“Oh? Who are your favourites?”

“Iron Man and Loki.”

“Is that right?” He sounded amused.

I was on a roll, talking about geeky things and if he was interested, I could chat all night. “They have the most depth of all the characters, I think.”

“How so?”

“They’re both things they shouldn’t be,” I answered. “Tony stark should have wasted his life drinking and partying, with a few great ideas thrown in when he wasn’t too drunk, but he’s suddenly this hero, and I can tell he doesn’t think he’s too heroic either. And as for Loki, he spent what? A thousand years being a good guy, fighting alongside Thor, protecting Asgard and the other realms, doing nothing more serious than playing some pranks, but now he’s done a complete 180 and is the biggest bad arse going!”

“Surely that’s Thanos, no?”

“If Thanos ever gets his arse into gear and get out of that chair, maybe. Until then, Loki rules. Okay, not literally because they beat him, but it took six superheroes to stop one man, that’s pretty bad arse.”

He chuckled.

“Finally, they both have wicked senses of humour,” I continued. “And you have to love characters that can make you laugh.”

“I have to agree with you there. The humour was one of the things I loved most about Guardians.”

“That was a fantastic script,” I agreed. “And I might just have a crush on Rocket, if that isn’t too creepy.”

“Oh, so you don’t have a crush on Iron Man and Loki then?”

“Of course I do, but crushing on billionaires and gods isn’t icky,” I laughed. “Bestiality is definitely not something I wish to explore.”

He laughed along with me but then his phone rang.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to take this, but thank you for an entertaining evening.”

“You too.” I smiled.

“If you ever feel like geeking out over Marvel again, give me a call.”

“Same to you. And I’m really sorry about insulting you earlier.”

“Forgiven and forgotten, darling. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” I answered, just as he closed the window, ending our chat.

My finger hovered over his contact details in my address list, debating whether to delete him or not. I mean, I know he said to call again but he was just being polite, right? British people do not message strangers.

Still, after sixty seconds of indecision, I left his contact in my address book and closed the window.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A few times a day I would look at the program and wonder if I should call Captain Hammer again. I had come up with a myriad of reasons for calling, such as asking his opinion on things from the perfect date outfit, or simply calling to apologise for all the accusations I threw at him.

Each excuse seemed transparent though, so I resisted. I hoped he might call me but as the one week anniversary of our odd chat was upon me, I had to conclude that he wouldn’t.

I wasn’t really surprised, my dating life recently had been one disaster after the other. My job doesn’t really allow me to meet many people, so I’ve been using dating websites, which seem to be filled with time wasters, sex addicts and cheaters.

Were there no good men left out there?

At this rate, I was pretty sure that I would become a crazy cat lady. Well, crazy dog lady; cats don’t really like me.

I photographed my latest work and uploaded the pictures to my computer, ready to list them on my site, when the chat window opened, asking if I would accept a call from Captain Hammer.

My heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird as I clicked ‘accept’.

“Hi,” I said, hoping to sound cool but instead, it came out as a breathy sigh.

“Good evening, darling.” His face was still mostly in darkness so I couldn’t see many details.

“Its ‘darling’ now, is it?” I asked.

“Well, it’s an improvement on calling me an ass.”

“Ass’s ass,” I corrected him, my tone teasing. “So, Captain Hammer, what can I do for you this fine evening?”

“Oh nothing much, I just felt that my ego might be getting a little out of control and I was hoping that you might help me deflate it a little.”

My cheeks burned from blushing. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No need to apologise, it was highly entertaining.” He laughed. He had a lovely laugh. “So, how is your mother’s dating life?”

I shrugged. “Same as.”

“Forgive me if I’m talking out of turn, but you seem rather cynical and it strikes me that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree so…”

“Why can't my mother see through these losers?”

“Well, yes.”

I sighed. “I probably gave you completely the wrong impression last week. My Mum is actually pretty great, she’s intelligent, assertive and kind. The only area’s she’s not great with are computers and men.”

“Well computers I can understand, especially for someone of her generation. My father was an executive but even he can hardly do anything more on a computer than email.”

“Yeah, well my Mum has even less experience dating than with computers,” I answered. “She and my dad met when they were 13, they married when they were 18, she put him through university, then they had a family and after we kids were school age, she went back to college and got a history degree. They were a real team, you know, each supporting the other, the way love should be.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what happened to your father.”

I nodded sadly. “Lung cancer. He was a great guy but he smoked like a chimney. So now my mum, who has never really been on her own, doesn’t know what to do with her life.”

“Does she have to meet someone?”

“I keep telling her that but her whole life, she’s been single for a total of fifteen years, and married or part of a couple for forty two. I get why it’s hard for her, she wants what she had with my dad again, but dating, especially in this day and age, is a minefield.”

“It’s not that bad is it?”

“My last date was texting another girl about hooking up later while I was in the loo.”

“No!”

“Yep. The one before that suggested we go into the loos at the coffee shop so I could blow him.”

“Really?”

“God’s honest truth. And I can't tell you how many unsolicited dick pics I’ve been sent, it’s like the new hello. ‘Hi, perfect stranger, here is my penis, don’t you want to fuck me now?’”

He laughed. “Oh dear, that does sound awful.”

“I might not mind so much, if they actually had something to brag about but instead, they send pictures of these pathetic excuses for manhood that make my skin itch just looking at them, no way are they getting near my lady parts.”

“You’re a very harsh young woman,” he said, his mirth evident in his voice.

“You’re just realising this?” I teased. “Man, I thought you were slow, but I didn’t know you were that slow.”

He laughed harder.

“I’m sorry,” I felt the need to apologise. “The thing is, we show affection in our family through ridicule and derision. It keeps us grounded, dad used to say.”

“Very true, as long as there’s love behind it all.”

“Oh, there is,” I smiled, then suddenly faltered. “With my family, I mean. I’m not some crazy lady who falls in love with silhouettes on computer screens.”

‘Falls in lust maybe,’ I silently added.

“I knew what you meant, darling.”

“So are you always going to hide in the shadows, Captain, or do I get to see your face?”

“In the shadows?”

“Yeah, the brightness on your screen must be turned right down, I can hardly see you. Except when you smile, I think they must be using radioactive fluoride in your region, your teeth practically glow.”

He laughed. “I like to keep my office pretty dark,” he explained. “It keeps me focused and relaxed and when you’re in a dark room, the screen doesn’t have to be as bright.”

I harrumphed in what I hopes was a comical fashion. “You just don’t want me to see all the boils and soared covering your face.”

“You’ve got me there, darling, I’d hate to make you itch. I, on the other hand, have had a perfect view of your milk moustache since we began chatting.”

My hand flew to my mouth, wiping frantically and he burst out laughing. “I was joking, love, you look stunning.”

I poked my tongue out at him, it seemed like the mature thing to do.

“So, what are you up to tonight?” he asked.

“I was just updating my listings.”

“Listings? Are you an estate agent?”

“Hey, I’m harsh but I’m not the devil,” I teased. “No, I meant my listings on Esty.”

“Oh, you make crafts then?”

“Paintings,” I corrected.”

“What do you paint?”

“Well…” My cheeks flushed again.

“Come on, darling, I promise I won’t laugh.”

“Portraits?” I said but the hesitation in my voice must have given him a clue that it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Really?” He was onto me.

“Pet portraits,” I said softly. “And yes, I know, how kitsch it sounds but it pays the bills. You’re an actor, you can't tell me you haven’t taken on some awful roles just to pay the rent.”

“Well that’s true. Like playing the hind end of a donkey.”

That brought a smile to my lips, despite my shame.

“Can I see any of your work?” he asked.

I hesitated for a moment but then decided, what the hell. “I have three accounts, Harriet’s Pets, they’re the pet pictures, usually commissioned. I also have the Geek Freak store front with some pop culture paintings and my original work is under… Well, that’s my real name and since I haven’t even got a clue what you look like, that might not be such a good idea to give out just yet.”

He chuckled and I could hear him typing, then his mouse clicking.

“These are beautiful!” he suddenly exclaimed.

“What are you looking at?” I asked in a small voice.

“A red setter.”

“That’s Jasper,” I smiled. “He’s my neighbour’s dog and a wonderful subject to paint for example pictures. Like I say, most of the pet pictures are commissions, so the ones that are listed aren’t for sale.”

“And what do you charge for a portrait?”

“From fifty pounds to three hundred, it depends on the canvas size people commission but the average if about seventy five.”

“I think you could charge more,” he said, but he was probably just being nice. “What was the name of your other shop?”

“Geek Freak.”

A few more keystrokes and he seemed to have found that store front.

“That is one fantastic Iron Man portrait,” he said, while I blushed. “I almost feel as if he’s reaching out of the canvas.”

“They’re becoming more popular than the pets,” I explained. “And I have a little more freedom with what I want to paint.”

“You’ve got a lot of Loki here.”

“He sells well,” I said. Surely anyone even vaguely familiar with the Marvel fandom knew that. “He’s my bestseller, in fact.”

He was silent for a long while and I began to feel nervous so, in true Harriet style, I began to babble.

“And the actor is so expressive too, he really runs the gamut from devastatingly sad to pure evil, so it’s fun to play around with that. And that outfit is pretty cool as well.”

“I love this one of Scarlet.”

“She’s breathtakingly beautiful,” I say, feeling on safe ground again. “I’d love to have her pose live one day. Maybe when I win the lottery.”

“You play?” he asked.

“No.” I grinned. “As soon as I moved into my own place, I decided it was a waste of money and I’d much rather have Earl Grey tea, than buy tickets for a lottery with odds of 14 million to one.”

“Aah, the struggling artist, forced to choose between wasting money on impossible odds, or drinking quality tea.”

“Yep, middle class problems,” I laughed, which earned me a grin.

“So, will I ever see your original work?” he asked seriously.

“Will I ever see your face?”

He didn’t reply right away and I wondered what his problem was. Maybe he was disfigured in some way, in which case I felt like a jerk for teasing him earlier.

“Tell you what, why don’t you email me pictures of some of your original art work, that way we can both stay anonymous.”

I did have aliases on my email account that I could use. I grabbed a pencil.

“Okay, what’s your email address?”

“Loki1981 at-“

I smiled, he really was a geek to have an email address like that.”

“Okay, _'Loki'_ , I’ll send you a few pictures.”

“I look forward to it.”

“So what are your scintillating plans for the evening?” I asked.

“I have to go out to a party soon.” He sounded reluctant.

“Try not to get too excited,” I teased and he smiled.

“Oh, they just get so samey after a while, you know?”

“I can't say I do, but I can imagine. Just be glad you chose acting rather than music, all those young, nubile, sexy groupies, throwing themselves at you night after night after night. And you think you have it tough.”

He laughed.

“Anyway, while I’m sitting here all alone, babysitting Jasper, drowning my sorrows with a tub of Hagen Daz and watching Dirty Dancing, I’ll spare a thought for you and the horrible time you’re going through, having to be sociable.”

“Don’t cut me any slack, will you?”

I grinned. “Of course not, darling.”

“Oh, so I’m darling now, am I?” he teased.

“Well, you’re fairly entertaining, so I’m feeling magnanimous,” I shrugged. “Now bugger off and get dressed for this awful party and let me get on with my work.”

“As you wish, love. Don’t forget to send me those pictures, will you?”

“Promise.”

“Good night, Darling.”

“Goodnight, ass’s ass.”

His laughter was the last thing I heard before he terminated the call.

I shook my head and determinedly got back to updating my listings with my new paintings, wondering why some faceless voice was making me feel like a love sick teenager. I’d probably never hear from him again anyway, so having warm fuzzy feelings about him was kind of pathetic.

“Welcome to my life,” I muttered.

I had however, made him a promise so once I was finished updating my e-shops, I opened an email and composed a new message, attaching three of my favourite non-pet, non-geek related paintings. One was of the coast near my mother’s home in Suffolk, one was a portrait of my best friend, who is unfortunately in America for her work. God, I missed her. She’d have a good laugh with me about my crush on the mystery man.

The final painting was an abstract one, meant more to convey feeling rather than look like anything. I’d painted it two years ago, just after my father’s death and it’s some of the best work I have ever done. Unfortunately, it’s now packed up in my studio as I can't bear to look at it too often but I also can't bring myself to sell it.

Shaking the depressing thoughts off, I composed a jaunty message too.

_‘My dearest Captain Hammer._

_Please find attached a sample of my work, with not a whisker, horn or arc reactor in sight._

_I do hope your social gathering and the necessity to engage in social intercourse, isn’t too stressful after a hard day of auditioning and rejection but if it proves too much for your delicate, artistic sensibilities, you know where to find me._

_Yours with not an ounce of sincerity,_

_Dr Horrible’_

I hit send before I could second guess myself.

My neighbour, David, arrived with Jasper, the red setter, about half an hour later (his owners spoil him terribly and always leave him with someone when they go out) and after the requisite small talk, I settled on the sofa with my fury friend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I heard my computer beep to signal that I had an email and I picked my up phone up, hopeful that it was an order. The work I did paid the bills but I didn’t have much of a nest egg to fall back on, so each month as rent day approached, I became tense. I was still about a hundred shy of having Decembers rent.

Sometimes I wondered if choosing art as my career hadn’t been the worst decision of my life since, while I was doing what I loved, there was zero job security. Maybe those people who sit behind a desk for eight hours a day were onto something; they had a regular pay cheque coming in, after all, and they didn’t have to slog through the self-assessment tax form once a year.

I love my life, really I do, but I would love it even more if I sold a few more paintings each month.

I have considered leaving London too but part of me still hopes to be discovered by a gallery. Of course, it’s been about two years now since I took the time or trouble to cart my paintings to galleries. There’s only so much rejection my poor heart can take and while painting Fluffy might not be considered high art, at least the people who commissioned me liked my work.

As I picked my phone up, I wondered what my new friend would make of my paintings, and it turned out that the email was from him.

‘ _My darling Dr Horrible, your paintings are as exquisite and beautiful as you. You really should consider exhibiting in a gallery. While I am no expert, I’m certain that there is more than enough room in the art world for someone with your talent._

_Yours with utmost sincerety,_

_Capt. Hammer_ ’

He really was kind of sweet, in an adorkable way.

I clicked reply. ‘ _Been there, done that, got rejected_.’

It didn’t take long for a reply to come back.

‘ _You can’t give up, you have to keep trying. How many times do you think I’ve been turned down or acting jobs?_ ’

I smiled. He was right.

_‘I hear you’re a shoo in for hind legs of the donkey this year.’_

That was a bit glib, even for bitchy old me, so I immediately typed another reply.

‘ _Sorry, you hit a bit close to home with that. I guess that now I’m paying my bills, I’m not as hungry, and not as willing to face rejection. But you are right, I should keep trying_.’

‘ _You really should, I think you’re very talented_.’

‘ _Thank you. This might be easier by text, so here’s my mobile number, 07XXX XXX XXX’_

The next time my phone beeped, it was with a text message from an unknown number.

‘ _So you’ll give me your phone number but not your name?’_

_‘Harri. Harri is my name. I would have thought Harriet’s Pets might have given you a clue. Can I know your name?’_

_‘Thomas. Call me Tom.’_

‘V _ery nice to meet you, Tom. I think I prefer Captain Hammer though. It’s more colourful_.’

I could almost hear him laughing. I hope he found me as funny as he seemed to.

‘ _True. Are you enjoying Dirty Dancing?’_

_‘Actually I opted for Guardians of the Galaxy. My DVD came this morning. Dirty Dancing is next though. How’s the party?’_

_‘Party’s okay. Think I might leave soon, I have an early call time tomorrow.’_

_‘So you have a job at the moment? Do tell.’_ I was genuinely curious. Being an actor can mean anything from being an extra, to being Leonardo DiCaprio.

_‘It’s just a few days of reshoots.’_

_‘Do you have anything else lined up?”_

_‘I have a part in a BBC mini-series, filming in the New Year.’_

_‘Anything I might have heard of?’_

_‘It’s based on a John le Carré book.’_

I knew nothing but the basics about his books. _‘Ooh, spy stuff!’_

I could almost hear him chuckle as he typed out a reply.

 _‘Yes, spy stuff,’_ he agreed. _‘It’s a bit different from anything I’ve done recently, so it should be fun.’_

I took that to mean he’d been doing theatre or something, and working in front of a camera would be new.

_‘A lot different from being the hind end of a donkey, at least people will see your face ;)’_

I really did wonder if I was being a bit close to the line with these insults, hence the wink face at the end. He can probably tell when I tease him on webcam but with just text, teasing can easily be read as bitching.

_‘Yeah, and far less sweaty than a donkey suit.’_

Yes! He got me and my twisted humour, but maybe it was time _I_ stopped acting like an ass, or at least tone it down a little.

_‘Well I hope you enjoy it and I’ll be sure to watch it and cheer for you when the series airs. Unless you’re a bad guy, in which case I will boo and hiss at you but you shouldn’t take this as a reflection that I don’t support you.’_

_‘You are marvellously mischievous, Henri Horrible.’_

_‘Hey, horrible by name, horrible by nature.’_

_‘So, how is your film?’_

_‘Not sure, some weird guy keeps texting me so it’s paused just before the final fight scene. Still, a gorgeous redhead has his head buried in my lap, so I’m being well cared for.’_

There was a very long pause there and I wondered if I’d offended him, or put him off. Why had I joked about that anyway? Did I want him to think I was seeing someone? Worse still, that I would text while someone was going down on me?

A worrying thought occurred to me then, what if the guys I dated weren’t the weirdoes, what if I was the weirdo? They couldn’t all be weird, right? And I was the only common denominator so…

I was about to text again and remind him about Jasper but he beat me to it.

_‘The red setter you painted, right? You said he was coming over.’_

_‘The very same.’_ I actually sighed with relief, causing Jasper to look up at me. _‘He’s spoiled rotten, almost treated better than a child. If he wasn’t such a sweetheart, I’d be jealous of all the money they spend on him. Seriously, he even attends doggy day care while they go out to work.’_

_‘Well, as long as they love him, I can't see the harm.’_

_‘Nor me, that’s why I watch him in the evenings when they go out. They call it a sleepover though, which is slightly disturbing.’_

_‘Says the woman who has a crush on a raccoon.’_

_‘I do not have a crush on a raccoon… okay, maybe I have a little crush on him, but the kind of petting I want to do with him is totally legal, I assure you.’_

_‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’_

Well, he didn’t have to. He could meet me, I suppose. Did I really want to say that though? Probably not.

_‘So, is the BBC show filming in London?’_

_‘Mostly. We haven’t started yet.’_

_‘Well, good luck with it. I hope it’s amazing and epic and your big break.’_

_‘Thank you, darling, that’s very kind of you to say.’_

_‘So, have you been in anything else I might have seen?’_

_‘Ah, now, that would be telling.’_

I pouted. _‘Dirty, rotten tease. I showed you my work, now you show me yours :P’_

_‘As tempting as that is, I fear not.’_

_‘It’s okay, you know, even if you do look like the elephant man, I’ll still talk to you.’_

_‘You are too kind.’_

Was he being sarky? _‘Are you being sarcastic?’_

_‘Maybe, just a little. What’s sauce for the goose if sauce for the gander, after all.’_

_‘Are you calling me a goose? A bird? Fowel (or foul). I have never been so insulted in my life! You beastly man!’_

_‘LOL. I wish I was there with you, watching you tear your film plot to shreds.’_

_‘Eh, I go easy on Marvel. And comic book adaptations in general. Except Man of Steel. And Green Lantern. Man, those films were awful.’_

_‘Oh come on, who doesn’t like Superman!’_

_‘Me. For the same reason I’m not as keen on Captain America and Thor, they’re all goody two shoes, there’s no complexity or real depth in their characters. I like a complex hero.’_

_‘Like Loki and Stark?’_

_‘Exactly. And I’m dying for a Black Widow movie. I’d bet she had a graveyard worth of skeletons in her closet.’_

Suddenly my phone rang, displaying a withheld number. It was probably him but I couldn’t be sure.

“Hello?”

“Tell me your theory on Loki again?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“You mean about him deep down being a good guy?”

“That’s the one.”

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying your party?”

“I did enjoy it. Now I’m in a cab back to my place.”

I wondered where his place was.

“Just think about it,” I began. “Loki was Thor’s right hand man in Asgard and they fought together for centuries. Even at the beginning of Thor one, he saves Fandral’s life. Up until his whole identity was stripped away from him, he was one of the good guys, despite how shitty his dad treated him.”

“But he was never _really_ good, was he? He did let the frost giants into Asgard.”

“True, but we’re talking about gods and monsters here, not people. Everything in Asgard is larger than life, so it stands to reason that their pranks would be bigger too.”

“I suppose.”

I carried on with my point, pressing it home. “Besides, it’s only a few recent years when he’s been a true bad guy so really, that behaviour is the aberrant one.”

“So would you date Loki?”

“Are you kidding?” I said excitedly in my best overly enthusiastic fangirl voice. “Of course I wouldn’t! No frigging way, Jose! As much as I like to ogle him from afar, the dude’s a maniac.”

He laughed.

“All I’m saying,” I continued, “is that he’s complex and there are dozens of layers to him. He can be good, bad or indifferent, depending on his motivation, and that’s what makes him interesting.”

“Hmm,” he said, as if considering my words and finding them wanting.

“I wouldn’t date Tony Stark either, for that matter, I’d trust him too save the world most of the time but not not break my heart, if that makes sense. My English teacher’s head is probably spinning around right now, Exorcist style.”

“Bad grammar or not, I know what you mean,” he chuckled. “What makes for an interesting or sympathetic character doesn’t necessarily make for a good boyfriend.”

“Exactly. They’re good for a one night stand, nothing more,” I teased.

“So, what kind of man does make a good boyfriend?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I considered the question. “I’ve never been one for a laundry list of what I want in someone else.”

“You must have some idea though.”

“Well… I suppose someone like my Dad. I would like to add before I continue, that I am not now nor have I ever been, attracted to my father.”

“Understood, please continue.”

“Okay, first you want someone calm. Having a temper is not an attractive quality and nothing ever got solved in anger. Next, he has to be kind. Why anyone would date someone who was unkind, I don’t know, I hate meanness of any kind, but those losers keep getting dates so, I guess someone likes them…”

“What else?” he prompted. 

“I don’t know. I suppose intelligence is important, someone you can have a real, in depth discussion with sometimes.”

“So educated then?”

“Education is nice but not necessary, as long as someone is bright and willing to learn.”

“Anything else?”

“Someone who is confident but not arrogant. The kind of person who is happy with who they are, who doesn’t have a massive chip on their shoulder and who has nothing to prove to the world.”

“Isn’t having goals good though?”

“Sure, but it depends _why_ you want to reach those goals. If it’s to prove to everyone around you that you’re worthy, then you’ll never feel worthy because external validation never lasts. If it’s to prove something to yourself, to see if you can do something new, or just so you can learn and grow as a human being, those kinds of goals are admirable.”

“How old are you?” he suddenly asked.

I gasped, “Thomas! How could you ask a lady such a thing! You impertinent beast!”

He laughed.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked, joking aside.

“Just curious. You seem to have a wisdom beyond your years.”

“How do you know I’m not seventy five old and just have a really good plastic surgeon?”

“I suppose I don’t.” He laughed. “Please tell me you aren’t seventy though. I have nothing against age gaps but forty plus years might be stretching it.”

Was he flirting with me? Was it possible that he was as enamoured with me, as I was becoming with him?

Probably not.

“Thirty one.” I replied.

“Ah, to be thirty one again,” he said wistfully.

“You’re not some middle aged guy who is going through a midlife crisis, are you?” I joked. He didn’t sound middle aged.

“I’m thirty three, love.”

“Phew!” I said with exaggeration, wondering if I should flirt back. “So, what do you look for in a partner?”

“Just hold on a second.”

I heard him talking with the cab driver, then a door slammed.

“Sorry, just getting inside,” he explained a moment later. “Where were we?”

His voice was getting softer and louder, so I pictured him taking his coat off.

“I was asking the qualities you look for in a girl. Well, a woman; if you were still dating girls, I’d have to report you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “I suppose similar things to you. Nice, even tempered, intelligent. I think a sense of humour is a must too, you need to laugh, even in the darkest of times.”

“Especially then,” I agreed.

“So, um, I don’t suppose you, uh…”

Was he going to ask me out? If there is a god, please, please, please let him ask me out!

“Yeah?” I prompted as the silence became awkward.

“I suppose I’d better let you get back to your film and your redhead.”

I felt a pang of loss. Probably my own fault for getting my hopes up. Why would he want to date me? I spent half the time insulting him. It was a dynamic that worked in our house but I was usually careful to break new boyfriends into that aspect of my personality carefully. With Tom, I’d just jumped straight in with the insults.

“Sure,” I tried to sound upbeat. “Enjoy the rest of your evening and have fun with the mini-series.”

“I will.” Was it my imagination or did he sound a little sad? I don’t know why he had any right to be sad, he was the one who suggested hanging up. “Good night, darling.”

 “‘Night, Tom.”

I ended the call before I could second guess myself.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

My mystery man was occupying more and more of my thoughts, which was disturbing considering that I had no idea who he was. Tom wasn’t a lot to go on.

I did try looking up John le Carré adaptations but the only one listed on IMDb was Our Kind of Traitor with Ewan McGregor, Damian Lewis and Stellan Skarsgård, but that was post production, while the one Tom had got a job with was going into production next year.

A google search brought up a few articles about House and Loki joining up for an adaptation, but no details on other cast members.

I searched Our Kind of Traitor but the only Toms were in the crew, not the cast.

I tried to talk myself out of liking him, he could be a serial killer or rapist or thief, or a liar, or a cheat.

The list of what he _could_ be was endless.

Unfortunately the list of what I thought he was, was very tempting. I knew he got my weird sense of humour, I knew he was kind thanks to his compliments and willingness to forgive me, I knew he was charming, I knew he was intelligent, I knew he was funny.

Of course, I didn’t know if he was interested in me. Probably not, certainly not to the degree I was interested in him.

Maybe he was gay. I could live with that, we could be good friends and moan to each other about our respective boyfriends.

I did my best to put him out of my mind, spending my days in my studio painting, so I wasn’t waiting by my computer for him to message me.

Besides, he was right, I should visit a few galleries again and for that, I needed some new original work because I’d been gradually selling most of them. I would probably never stop painting pop culture because I love it, but I was short on abstract work, so I needed to bulk that area of my portfolio up before I visited any galleries.

Tom and I texted back and forth a little but nothing serious, and we didn’t get a good chat going like we had the last time. I sent him a meme I thought was funny, he texted back with a meme of his own. I suppose we averaged about two texts a day. I tried to start conversations with him, asking what he was up to and when he said he was working, I asked if he was filming anything fun. He replied that he was working on reshoots and had to have his phone off for most of the day.

I mean, he was perfectly nice about it, and apologetic even but for whatever reason (after all, he could be lying about work) he didn’t want to speak to me.

I tried not to take it to heart and got on with my life.

I thought the reshot thing was bollocks too. Please, I’ve met my fair share of so-called actors since I’ve been in London, or more accurately, barmen who call themselves actors. I didn’t call him out on it though, if his ego needed to tell strangers that he was an actor, then I wasn’t about to burst his bubble.

It did make me cringe when I thought about when I told him, that I didn’t want a boyfriend who was trying to prove something. Was that why he hadn’t ask me out? Had I put him off?

Truth is, as long as he was following his dreams and was happy, I couldn’t care if he was a professional extra or a mega star.

However I had told him the truth about my dog portraits, so why couldn’t he be honest with me too?

I had a run of orders on my geek shop and addition to my usual orders, I ended up selling one painting each of painting of each Avenger, as well as Fury, Coulson and Loki, plus a commission of Maria Hill (I’ve never been asked for her before) to a single buyer in London, which was very odd but not unwelcome. I assumed that he or she was an avid fan of the film.

I was a little sad to see them go as they were all six foot by three foot canvases (except the hulk, his was six by four) so they were nearly life size and I loved them all.

But it was very welcome to know that my rent would be paid through Christmas and up until March (hey, paintings that size don’t come cheap). Now I only needed to worry about eating but I’d survived enough periods existing on baked beans on toast, so I knew that even if I didn’t sell anything else before the New Year, I’d survive.

Now I could concentrate on updating my portfolio (in between animal pictures) with the intention of visiting a few galleries in the New Year. And I painted new Iron Man and Loki portraits too. My studio didn’t feel like home without at least some Avenger’s pictures hung in there.

I knew December would be busy, as people commissioned last minute paintings of their dogs for presents. For some reason, hardly anyone stopped to consider that an oil painting wasn’t like a print, it took layers of paint and time for each layer to dry, then more layers, adding texture and detail each time, and then more drying time.

Sadly, I knew that I’d miss out on a lot of Christmas business, simply because the paintings wouldn’t be ready to ship by December 23rd. Why couldn’t more people think ahead?

Still, you can hardly complain while you’re busy, and I would certainly be busy. My Christmas shopping was already done, because I knew I wouldn’t have much time for it in December.

In between updating my portfolio, I painted backgrounds, which is what Tom caught me doing when he phoned one Wednesday evening. I put him on speaker phone so I could still work.

“So, what thrilling adventures are you having this evening?” he asked after we’d exchanged pleasantries.

“Are you implying that I don’t live a rock star life?”

“Never, darling. So, what are you up to?”

“I’m painting a wonderful midnight blue canvas.”

“All the same colour?”

“Well, it’s slightly graduated.”

“Right… is, uh, is there much of a market for that?”

I laughed. “I’m painting backgrounds for my pet portraits.” I explained. “I get a run in December so I thought I’d get ahead of myself. It’s also very soothing, surprisingly enough.”

“Like a palate cleanser?”

“Exactly!” I loved how he just understood me (when I gave him the chance and wasn’t teasing him). “How’s your week going?”

“Oh, fine.” He was good at evading questions.

“Still doing the reshoots?” You can't say I haven’t given him plenty of chances to come clean with me.

“I am. It’s quite nice in a way, a taste of a movie without all the month’s of slog that usually goes in to them.”

“Oh?” I hoped to draw some more information out of him. Maybe I was wrong and he did act fairly regularly.

“Yes.”

Well, that didn’t work quite as I’d planned. I decided to drop the pretence. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’ve been in?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

“What about the reshoots, what are they for?”

“Oh, just a small indie film.” I could hear the humour in his voice as he thwarted me. Again.

“Indie films do reshoots?”

“Um.” A-hah! I’d caught him in a lie. “I, uh, well, some do,” he hedged his bets. “Indie just means they’re not attached to a major studio.”

“Uh huh.” I was smiling as I nodded.

“So…”

“So…”

“How’s work?” he asked again. It wasn’t like him to repeat himself, so I guess I’d freaked him out by asking too much about him.

“Told you, I’m painting backgrounds.”

“And sales?”

“Sales are really good, actually. A mega fan must have found my store, they bought ten Avengers paintings from me!”

“That’s amazing, he must be a huge nerd.”

“I prefer the term geek.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Nerd implies a lack of social skills.”

“Wow, I never knew that.” I could just imagine him scratching his neck, looking confused. Given his voice, vocabulary and other indicators, I guess he probably wasn’t often corrected on language, especially not by a dyslexic.

“You learn something new every day,” I quip.

“So you do,” he agreed. “So who is this fan?”

“No idea. He had the paintings sent care of someone called Luke, to an office address in London. I have no clue if Luke is the buyer or not, but you’d hardly send a package care of yourself, would you?” I asked rhetorically. “Sellers don’t get to see credit card info or anything, just their checkout details.”

“You must be happy to have such a big fan.”

“Actually, I’m a little sorry to see them go. I kind of liked having them around. It can get a bit lonely, painting all day.”

He laughed, able to tell that I was joking. Well, half joking.

“Maybe you’ll see them again one day,” he offered.

“Maybe.” I couldn’t see how, but I wasn’t about to argue when he was trying to be nice. “Anyway, despite the impression I might have given you, I’m not actually a total social leper, I do leave the house sometimes.”

“How often?”

“Oh, once a month, maybe, if it’s a good month.”

He laughed.

“Actually I’m going out tomorrow. There’s a new exhibition at the V and A I want to see.”

“Oh?”

“The photography of Horst.”

“Phew, for a second I thought you were going to see the wedding dress exhibition!”

“Excuse me, Captain Hammer, but a woman’s biggest desire in life is no longer to get married.” I sounded suitably aghast. “Besides, I saw that back in July.”

He laughed before admitting, “I’ve seen it too.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? To see the detail on some of those gowns. I think I’d have worn my fingers to bloody stumps sewing some of those by hand. And they must have been so heavy, like wearing a small child around.”

“I’m not sure wedding dresses have changed that much, I’m sure some of them still weigh a ton.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “I’ve always preferred the simple ones though. Something classic with simple, flowing lines, you know? I think Kate Middleton’s dress was almost perfect, not too ostentatious.”

“‘Almost perfect’?” he sounded incredulous. “They’ll kick you out of the female gender if you don’t love her dress, you know.”

I laughed. “Yeah, but I’m dyslexic, which always comes with a degree of dyspraxia, which in simple terms is balance and coordination issues. That dress may have been perfect for her but for me? That train would kill me before I’d even got to the church.”

He had such a rich, warm laugh, I could listen to it forever.

We chatted a bit more, then he told me his plans for the evening was to watch Much Ado About Nothing, Joss Whedon’s film of the Shakespeare play.

“Oh no, please tell me you aren’t a Shakespeare freak?” I literally begged.

“Who isn’t?” he sounded incredulous that I would even dare to suggest such a thing.

“I have a hard enough time reading regular English, let alone Middle English. It’s just mean to do that to a child!”

“I see your point,” he said, seriously. “I’ve never asked before, is your dyslexia bad?”

“Well, not as bad as some,” I admitted. “I can read quite quickly these days but only because I found Star Trek novelisations when I was a teenager, which gave me a reason to want to read.”

“You weren’t given any specific help?”

“I wasn’t diagnosed until my third year of college and even then, I’m not sure how much help would have been around in the 80s and 90s. I mean, I get by and everything, it’s not like I’ve been held back, but my Mum has to proof any official type letters I want to send, and yes, things like Shakespeare and films with subtitles are a real chore.”

“Have you ever tried watching Shakespeare?”

“We had to watch some 70s recording of Romeo and Juliette in school. It was better than reading it, I have to admit. If only the acting had been a little better, I might even have enjoyed it. No, scratch that, I think that’s a stupid play.”

He gasped theatrically. “Sacrilege!”

“Oh please, a grown man dates a thirteen year old girl and they’re both so stupid they, die needlessly. That’s not my idea of romance.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” He sounded defeated. “Have you not even see Joss’s film?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Look, I won’t badger you about it or anything but I beg you, please give Shakespeare another shot. Those plays were never meant to be read, only watched and I’m sorry to say, schools have a lot to answer for when it comes to killing passion about Shakespeare. I beg you, watch Joss’s version and if you still can't understand it or don’t like it, then that’s the last you’ll hear about it from me. Can you do that, for me?”

He sounded so earnest that I felt bad for wanting to say no. Still, a night with Shakespeare was my idea of hell.

The silence stretched out between us.

“Okay, I promise I’ll watch it _if_ , and only if, you tell me something you’ve acted in. Deal?”

He actually hesitated. Damn lying toe rag! He had no business telling me he was an actor if he couldn’t at least show me one thing he’d acted in.

“Fine, but I’ll only tell you after you’ve watched it.”

“Ooh, you’re sneaky,” I teased.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked.

“We do.”

“Fantastic!”

I shook my head at the enthusiasm in his voice.

“I can send you a copy, if you want,” he offered.

“Thanks, but I’m sure Netflix has it. Besides, I still have no proof that you aren’t a serial killer.”

“Good point. Let me know when you’ve seen it and once I’m sure you haven’t just wikied a synopsis of the play, I’ll tell you something I’ve been in.”

I looked at my canvas, and the other six blank ones I wanted to start tonight. Suddenly I didn’t have the heart for it.

“I can hear you thinking,” he said.

“I’ll watch it tonight,” I said on impulse. “Give me half an hour to wash up and cue the movie, then call me back and we can watch together.”

“Brilliant idea, darling. I’ll talk to you soon.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Although Harry can work in a range of styles from detailed portraiture to impressionist, when I picture Harri’s geek paintings, I picture the slightly impressionistic style and colours of [Leonid Afremov](https://www.google.co.uk/search?biw=1600&bih=740&tbm=isch&q=leonid+afremov+dancers&revid=38705975&dpr=1#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=NXaBgTTNWrnbgM%253A%3BiOouOtqZ5TeYfM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Ffc04.deviantart.net%252Ffs71%252Ff%252F2014%252F083%252F1%252F0%252F104be33b814e3d5de6079a4c1ac25192-d307f1z.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fvioletrose496.deviantart.com%252Ffavourites%252F47821150%252FLeonidAfremov%3B527%3B665). I think his [style ](http://th04.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2012/234/3/5/flamenco_dancer___leonid_afremov_by_leonidafremov-d5c2x0b.jpg)would work [fabulously ](http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/083/1/0/104be33b814e3d5de6079a4c1ac25192-d307f1z.jpg)with the [bright colours](http://th04.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2012/234/3/5/flamenco_dancer___leonid_afremov_by_leonidafremov-d5c2x0b.jpg) of superheroes.

**Chapter Five**

Tom was right, watching Shakespeare, especially a slick production such as Joss Whedon’s, was far better than reading the plays. I always understood what was going on, even if I didn’t understand the exact language used.

I did have some issues with the plot though. Seriously? Mistaken identity? Faked death? Well, I suppose I’d overlooked worse plot holes in the past, and Tom helped to make it fun too.

Once the movie ended, we continued talking.

“You should really see it on the stage, there’s a presence, a magnetism that you get with a quality stage production, that film can't always convey.”

“Are you asking me out?” I teased.

“Um, yes, I suppose I am.”

It’s a good thing we weren’t on webcam, because I was grinning like a loon. “Well, I suppose I can see if I’m free.”

“The next good production that I’m in town for, we’re going, even if I need to drag you there, kicking and screaming if I have to.”

I considered saying ‘It’s a date’ but worried I’d scare him off.

I went with “Deal!” instead.

“Great.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“And now, I believe you owe me the name of something you’ve been in.”

I heard him sigh and felt bad for pressing but seriously, what was his issue? He knew what I did. I’d even be happy to give him my full name now (I was 99% sure he wasn’t a serial killer) so why was he so hung up on me not seeing him?

“Wallander.”

“You were in Wallander?” I asked. I had watched some of the show but I couldn’t remember many details.

“I was.”

“Okay, which episode?”

“Oh no, you asked for the name of something I’d been in, and you have it.”

“Fine.” I’d Netflix the whole thing if I had to.

We chatted for a little longer and when we hung up, I immediately went to my laptop and looked up Wallander, pulling up the complete cast listing and searching for any Toms.

There was Tom Hiddleston. Yeah, right, like he would spend his days talking to a nobody like me. Tom Beard, who played Svedberg and looked a bit older than I’d pictured my Tom. Wasn’t he the detective who killed himself? Then there was a Tom McCall, who played someone called Peters in one episode. That sounded suitably bit part-ish slash jobbing actor to be my Tom, so I clicked through to his profile. He didn’t work much, only 6 shows listed but he could be making his living on the stage.

A google search for a picture of him proved fruitless, so I was still no further forward. I’d just have to watch the episode, so I queued it up on Netflix.

Unfortunately if there was a character called Peters in it, I didn’t notice him. Must be blink and you’ll miss it part. Still, I’m sure his Mum was proud and he sounded like he enjoyed his job.

Oh well, I’d gone this long without putting a face to the name, I could go a bit longer.

***     

Three days after our Shakespeare night, I suddenly got an email from the Missoni Gallery. I knew them, of course, they were a fairly new gallery, not huge but respected and known for their pop culture inspired works.

Their email said that they had found some of my work online, unfortunately they weren’t using my professional email (that would be geekfreak@hotmail) they were using the one I’d used to send pictures to Tom, which was my initials and age (well it was my age, when I set the account up).

My phone was in my studio so I tried the webcam app and surprisingly, Tom answered almost immediately.

“Darling.” I could still see his smile but not much else.

“I just got an email from a gallery asking me to bring some samples of my work in. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” I was cross and it showed.

“Ah.”

“‘Ah’? Is that all you have to say? You had no right to show those pictures I emailed or my site to anyone without my permission!”

“But you’re so talented! You deserve recognition and if I could help you get a little, I didn’t see the problem with that.”

“It’s because I want to make it on my own, not because you have a friend. Now I’ll always be wondering if my work is good enough or if they were doing you a favour.”

“I see your point but please, darling, let me assure you, they won’t take your work if they don’t like it, not even if they do know me and besides, everyone needs a hand. People helped me get a foot in the door and I was hoping I could do the same for you. Whether you succeed or fail will be down to you, I just made a phone call.”

I felt like a total bitch now.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I-”

His phone rang.

“One second,” he said and pushed his chair away from the desk, turning to reach behind himself for his phone and for a few moments, his face caught the light. It wasn’t much light, probably from a street lamp, but I knew that face. The whole frigging world knew that face!

Tom, my Tom, wasn’t some jobbing actor, he was Tom freaking Hiddleston!!!

I closed the webcam app and proceeded to freak out, wandering around my apartment with my head in my hands, wondering how I had been so blind! I’d actually sat there and watched him in Wallander a few nights ago and discounted him as being too famous. Why hadn’t I noticed his voice? Surely I’d know that voice anywhere, wouldn’t I?

Oh, and the email address! I just assumed that the real Loki wouldn’t ever use that name. I mean, why would he? It was a double bluff, because only not-Loki’s would use Loki as their email handle. Oh, he was a crafty son of a bitch, that one.

I heard my phone ring a few times but I didn’t really notice until it rang while I was in my studio, where I’d left it. I picked it up and the caller ID said Captain Hammer.

I couldn’t talk to him, not yet so when the call ended, I brought the phone back into my living room, curled up on the sofa and proceeded to text him.

He’d already texted me.

_‘Darling, are you all right? It was stupid of me to do anything without discussing it with you, I’m sorry.’_

_‘I’m not mad,’_ I assured him. _‘I was about to apologise for over reacting.’_

_‘So why disconnect? Why aren’t you taking my calls?’_

_‘I think I found out something you didn’t want me to. I saw your face when you turned away.’_

No reply. The silence in my flat seemed to multiply as the minutes ticked by, until it was almost an oppressive presence.

Was he angry with me now?

 _‘I’m sorry,’_ I texted. _‘I didn’t mean to find out that way.’_

_‘You aren’t angry with me?’_

_‘I told you, I was wrong. You were trying to do something nice and I was being a bitch.’_

_‘I mean, you’re not angry that I lied to you?’_

He thought I was angry about that?

_‘God no! You must be hounded day and night, I don’t blame you for wanting to stay anonymous. I’m just sorry I found out before you were ready to tell me.’_

_‘Well, you would have found out eventually. It’s hard to take someone to a play and not show your face.’_

_‘You could have worn a paper bag, then I’d just have gone on in my blissful ignorance, thinking you were a descendant of John Merrick.’_

_‘I’m surprised you didn’t realise when I told you about Wallander.’_

_‘I thought you were a jobbing actor, that there was no way Tom Hiddleston would take time out of his day to call little old me. I had you pegged as someone called Tom McCall actually.’_

My phone rang and as expected, it was Tom.

“Hey.” I answered, sounding hesitant.

“Why did you cut the webcam?” he asked.

“Because I just found out I’ve been spilling my guts these last few weeks to one of my favourite actors and he now knows how big an idiot I am and I needed a moment to deal.” The words came out in one big breath. “I mean, you’re Tom Freaking Hiddleston, and I hacked your computer, accused you to sleeping with my mother, insulted you too many times to count and, oh God, you’ve seen my paintings of Loki!”

I wished for the ground to open up and swallow me. Unfortunately, the ground was not obliging.

“That’s funny, I could have sworn my middle name was William.”

He was so sweet, trying to joke me out of my mortification. Did he really not care how big of a fool I’d made of myself?

“Well according to my phone, your name is Captain Hammer.” Oh God, why did I have to say that? I’d seen the tumbler accounts about his ‘hammer’. I should just shut up and never speak again. It could open up a whole new career in mime, maybe I’d be more successful at that.

No, I simply had to get over my embarrassment and try to act like a normal human being… Wait, did I say normal? I was doomed.

No, he was still just Tom. My Tom. The same Tom I’d happily chatted to through the duration of Much Ado, the same Tom who called me when he was board at a party. The Tom who had sent me that awful meme pun about having a one night stand but way too many books to fit on it. My Tom was just a normal guy. I could do this.

“So… were you worried I’d taken straight to twitter or something?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to know who you were, because you didn’t trust me?”

“No! Lord, no. Well, I didn’t trust you in the beginning, I had no clue who you were, that’s why I turned all the lights in here out and taped a little filter over the web cam lens.”

“A filter? That’s why your image is so dark?” I smiled. “You’re a regular MacGyver.”

“I had some cheap cardboard 3D glasses lying around. It did the trick.”

“So why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to treat me any differently. Strange as it may sound, I’ve come to like the way you insult and belittle me, and I was worried that would change.”

“Have a lot of people changed since you became famous?” I asked.

“Some. People I didn’t know that well, they sort of become sycophantic. In the end I’m left to choose friends other famous people and while there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m aware that our perspective can become skewed, and close friends and family. And they’re great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s kind of hard to think that the few good friends you have now, are likely the only ones you’ll ever have.”

“I can see why meeting new people could be an issue. Of course, if I didn’t know who you were, I’d tell you to suck it up, grow a spine and go out and find yourself a new buddy.”

I was expecting a laugh but instead he said. “I think I may have found one.”

He said it with such feeling that I reacted the same way I do when Kerry tells me I’m her best friend, touched to have been given such a title by someone as great as she is.

It had been a long time since I’d forged a new connection that strong with someone, and it really touched me.

“Oh no, Hiddleston, you do not do that!” I said, my eyes prickling.

“What?” he sounded genuinely perplexed.

“Get all soppy and make me want to cry! I am a hard arse, god damn it, and I do not let people I’ve never met make me teary!”

“Well if it helps, I’ve been your friend for a few weeks now, even if we haven’t met.”

I laughed and although there was a little bit of a sob in there too, I think I covered it. I fanned my face.

“Ugh, okay, I think I’ve got it under control now,” I said. “The danger of blubbing has past, no thanks to you, you charming bastard.”

This time he did laugh. “Nah, I think the truth is, you’re just a big cry baby. I bet you probably cried when Bambi’s mother died.”

“Only a sociopath wouldn’t cry over that. I cried at the end of Watership Down too.”

“And Titanic?”

“Yes actually, but not for Jack and Rose.”

“Oh?”

“No, near the end, there’s a scene where a woman in steerage is trying to settle her little kids into bed, knowing they can't get out and will all die but trying to stay brave so her children aren’t upset. That made me cry my eyes out. By the time Jack died I was cried out and like, ‘whatever, dude, there was room for both of you on that door.”

He laughed.

“Kerry is going to freak when I tell her that my mystery man is you.”

“And Kerry is?”

“My best friend. Her company sent her to New York for two years, so we don’t seen much of each other, but we still chat all the time.”

“And you’ve told her about me?” He was using his smooth voice.

“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you? Yes, I told her about the weird freak who can't leave me alone.”

“Uh, excuse me, you hacked my computer, love.”

“Accidentally, I swear.” Then I realised something. “Did you think I was some crazed fan who was stalking you?”

“Uh, well, the thought did occur to me.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! You must have been so worried, I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t worry, darling, as soon as I saw your cheeks turn bright red when you realised your mistake, I knew you weren’t stalking me.”

“Yeah, but I insulted you for a good ten minutes before that.”

“A gross exaggeration.”

“You must have wondered what kind of freak you’d encountered.”

“Maybe, but your rant certainly helped prove that it wasn’t intentional.”

“Now I’m starting to see the possibilities I may have missed though. I mean, if I’d known it was you, I’d have looked for a sex tape to flog to the tabloids, or sold your emails to the papers or something.”

“That was indeed a missed opportunity,” he chuckled. “Sadly though, there is no sex tape.”

“Damn it! I could have been set for life! I mean, you’re a celebrity for god’s sake, it’s remiss of you not to have made a sex tape! How are hardworking hackers going to earn a living now?”

“You’ll just have to hack the Kardashians.”

“Pahlease, you don’t need to hack them, they’ll show their arses to anyone with a camera.”

Tom didn’t even laugh at my joke and he was silent for just a beat too long.

“Tom?”

“Since we’re being honest, I have another confession to make. Well, two actually.”

“Okay.” What the hell could he have to confess to?

“I didn’t show Michael Missoni your website.”

“Okay.” He must have shown him the pictures I emailed him..

“No. I showed him some of your canvasses.”

“What!” I sat upright so quickly that I saw stars for a second.

“I ordered those Avengers pictures.”

“You’re Luke?”

“Luke is my publicist actually.”

“Okay.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“No.” I didn’t know what to think. I was pleased that he liked my work enough to buy it but at the same time, mad at the idea it might have been charity.

The silence scratched out between us.

“Harriet, say something, please.”

“Don’t call me Harriet.”

“Harri then. Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how you feel.”

“I feel…” How to explain the maelstrom of emotions I was feeling, was more than my brain could handle right now. “I feel like its charity,” I finally admitted.

“It wasn’t charity, darling, I really liked your work. For the record, Mike did too, or he wouldn’t have emailed you.”

I didn’t reply because I still didn’t know which emotion would win.

“When they arrived I liked them so much, I called Mike, because I knew he had a superhero exhibition coming up soon and I thought he might be interested. I didn’t tell him anything about you, other than your email address, and I left him to make up his own mind about your work and contacting you.”

“Okay.”

“And I didn’t buy the paintings out of any charitable notions, I bought them because I thought they’d make excellent Christmas presents for the cast.”

“Oh God.” My reaction should be a lot more severe than that, I should be hyperventilating at the idea of the Avengers actors actually being sent my paintings. I think it was just one shock too many and I didn’t have the energy to worry about something else.

“He really liked them?”

“He said that your paintings seemed designed to enrich the senses, and created a wonderful sense of energy and activity within the canvas. He was quite taken with you.”

“He really said that? You’re not making it up?”

“I swear, he really said that.”

“Oh wow.” That came out as a breathy sigh and I think my brain literally froze for a few moments.

“Harri? Harriet? Darling, are you all right?”

I started to cry, which was ridiculous but I couldn’t help myself.

“Darling? Darling, please don’t cry.”

“I can't help it!” I wailed.

“Okay, give me your address, I’m coming round.”

“NO!” I tried to get myself under control. I’m an ugly crier, so no way would I let him see me like this. “They’re happy tears,” I assured him. “It’s just… I’ve been through most of my life never quite measuring up, and not knowing why. Even when I found out I was dyslexic, it felt like an excuse for my failings, not an explanation for them. I just… I talk about becoming a great artist but I never really thought I could be taken seriously. And I know it’s silly to take your friend’s words to heart because he hasn’t even met me or seen a range of my work but hearing someone who knows what he’s taking about actually respected my work…”

“Surely other people have told you your work was good? They must have.”

“Sure, but I didn’t believe them. My parents would call a doodle high art if I or my siblings did it, and my friends are just being kind. So were my teachers because art was the only subject I was any good at.”

“You seem to spend a lot of your time discounting your abilities.”

I shrugged, even although he couldn’t see me. At least my tears were drying up.

“For some reason, the ability to differentiate there, there and they’re was considered far more important than being able to draw or being good at maths. People are expected to be bad at those things but being crap at English was the end of the world.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, darling, truly I am. But I want you to know, I will never lie to you and if I think your work is rubbish, I will tell you. And if my bum looks big in anything, you have to swear to tell me too, okay?”

My laugh came out part sob, but still mostly laughter.

“Well I can't go on a red carpet with a gigantic back side, can I?” he tried to justify himself.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could wear that will make your look unattractive.”

“Not even the back end of a donkey costume?”

“You’d make even that look sexy, and you know it.”

He laughed. “So, when are you meeting with Mike?”

“Mike?”

“Michael Missoni, the reason you called me and yelled at me earlier.”

“Sorry, I’m also crap with remembering names. Um, I haven’t replied to him actually.”

“Well. I’m free for most of this week, if you want some moral support.”

“Thanks, truly, and for everything, not just your offer to go with me but…”

“You’re worried he won’t be honest if I’m there?”

“Yeah.” I admitted. It seemed churlish but I wanted his honest opinion, and I had a feeling that Tom, given all his charm, could convince him that I was the next Da Vinci, were he so inclined.

“All right,” he agreed, “on one condition.”

“Oh, you’re setting conditions now, are you?”

“So it would seem.”

“Go on.”

“Meet me afterwards for a celebratory drink.”

That was very tempting. “But what if it doesn’t go well?”

“Then it’ll be a commiserative drink.”

I really wanted to say yes but if it didn’t go well? I didn’t want him to see me in person, looking a blubbering mess.

“Go on, say yes. You know you want to,” he taunted me.

“You think you’re really hot shit, don’t you?”

He burst out laughing. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, fine, I’ll meet you afterwards.”

“Fantastic! Now you’d better email him back now because I find that I’m getting impatient to meet you in person.”

“Fine. I’ll text you the day and time. I assume you know where the gallery is.”

“Of course. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Positive.”

“Do you have a car?”

“I usually take the bus.”

“What about your paintings.”

Damn, hadn’t thought of that. “I have a friend with a small van, I can probably borrow it for the day.”

“Let me take you, darling, I’ll wait outside, I promise.”

I shook my head at myself. “You could talk the hind legs off a donkey.”

“Of course I can, I am an ass’s ass.” He teased. “So is that a yes?”

“Yes, fine.” I might have sounded grudging, but I was grinning.

“Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you very soon. Good bye, love.”

“Wait, you’re hanging up on me?” I was just getting back to acting normal again. Besides, I could listen to him all day.

“Always leave them wanting more,” he teased. “Now as soon as I hang up, I want you to call Mike and arrange to take your paintings in.”

“Wow, you’re really bossy.”

“I’m a regular dictator,” he answered. “And I wouldn’t recommend defying me, my punishments can make a grown woman scream.”

The tone of voice he used made me think he meant ‘scream in pleasure’ and it sent a little thrill down my spine.

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” he purred down the phone line. “Now I’m hanging up.”

“Okay.”

“Good bye, darling.”

“Okay.” Seriously, I was a grown woman, so why did he reduce my vocabulary to one word with such frequency? It was like he bypassed the reasoning areas of my mind and spoke directly to the primitive cave-woman centre of my brain.

I’m not sure how long I laid there until I realised I still had the phone pressed to my ear, even though he was long gone.

I got up to call the gallery before my courage failed me.

 


	6. Chapter Five and a Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little vignette, inspired by Tom's winning Best Actor at the London Evening Standard Theatre Awards tonight.

Little vignette, inspired by Tom's winning Best Actor at the London Evening Standard Theatre Awards tonight. 

**Chapter Five and a Half**

It was Sunday night and I was out for a drink with Ben, who had decided to see if he could get the barwoman’s phone number. Unfortunately she was proving a tough nut to crack, so I checked my facebook and twitter feeds on my phone, then decided to play with Tom and texted him.

I hadn't spoken to him since I'd told him about my meeting at the gallery tomorrow, and I was incredibly nervous (both about the gallery and meeting Tom in person) and maybe just little bit tipsy. 

_‘Having fun.'_ I began. 

_‘Pardon?’_

_‘I asked if you were having fun. PS Don’t drink too much before the show, will you?’_

_‘How do you know where I am?’_

_‘You just popped up in my twitter feed. Love the hair, by the way, you’ve got a real retro-_ _Brylcreem vibe going on. Looks god with the penguin suit.’_

_‘I should have guessed. Yes, I am enjoying myself, and thanks.’_

_‘Are you nominated?’_

_‘Of course, darling. I’m not just a pretty face.’_

_‘Well good luck. Try not to do a JLaw or Gwyneth Paltrow if you win.’_

_‘Thank you, and I’ll do my best.’_

_‘Seriously, good luck. I’ll leave you alone now to enjoy yourself.’_ Then I added. _‘But text me if you win!’_

_‘Will do, darling.’_

I had nothing to do then, so I continued looking through my twitter feed, then I checked my notifications, answering a smattering of questions about my work until Ben finally decided to give up and returned to the table. I could have told him I thought she was gay, but where is the fun in that?

“How’d you do?” I asked him.

“She says she’s gay,” he muttered.

“You're turning women gay now!" I shook my head. "Oh well, at least you still have me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Great.”

“Oh, snap out of it, you’ve only been single a month. I’ve been single for two years!”

“There was Graham-”

I held my hand out, palm facing him.

“We don’t talk about Graham. Graham has been erased from living memory and if you ever bring him up again, I will personally give you a new piercing, using an exceptionally dirty needle. Got it!”

“I was only saying!” He held his hands up in surrender. “Besides, I told you he was a tosser.”

“Yes, you did, and I used to love you because you never said ‘I told you so’. Now that you’ve said it, I’m afraid I no longer love you.”

“All right, fine, but even I didn’t think he’d steal your jewellery.”

“Jokes on him,” I shrugged as if it meant nothing to me. “It had sentimental value but no monetary value. He’d have had to pay someone to take it off his hands.”

My phone beeped and I looked down to see a text from Captain Hammer.

_‘I won!’_

I smiled as I replied. _‘I never doubted it, darling. Congratulations.’_ I also added a picture of a hedgehog in a party hat with a teeny banner saying ‘Congratulations!’.

_‘Thank you, that’s very cute.’_

_‘Bit like you then.’_ Was it okay to call guys cute?

“What are you smiling for?” Ben asked.

“A really ugly friend of mine just pulled this really hot girl,” I answered.

 _‘What are you up to?’_ Tom texted.

_‘Playing wing woman to a newly single friend.’_

Ben sat up straighter. “Where is he? I might have more luck in his pub.”

“First, you invited me out tonight and have done nothing but ignore me and secondly, he isn’t at a pub, he’s at the Palladium.”

 _‘Sounds like fun.’_ Tom texted. _  
_

“Sunday night at the London Palladium?” he said with a sneer. “It’s probably a seventy year old in with a hair net and blue rinse.”

_‘It’s really not. Now go celebrate while I do my best to find someone desperate enough to shag my friend.’_

I didn’t bother to correct Ben. “Okay, let’s drink up and we’ll head to the Archer, see if we can't find you a warm body for the night.”

Ben immediately brightened. “You’re the best wing woman ever!”

“I know.”

Tom replied as we were walking out. _‘Good luck with that.’_

_‘Thanks. I’ll need it! ;) ’_

_***_

_'Thx fir texting me, was nice to here from U.'_

Was Tom drunk? It was nearly 2am and Tom never made spelling mistakes. _'No problem, Tom, I'm pleased for you.'_

Luckily for me, I'm a bit of a night owl so he hadn't woken me.

_'My lass girlfriend never botherd. I don't thin she cared.'_

Yep, drunk.

_'She sucks. My last boyfriend stole my jewellery, including a paste rink that belonged to my Great Grandmother.'_

_'I'll kill him for you, if you want. I know James Blonde and he has a liscence to kill.'_

I liked drunk Tom. _'Thanks, but I have no idea where he is.'_

_'Polly best.'_

What? Oh, he means 'probably best'.

_'Yep. where are you?'_

_'At home. I couldn't want until tomorrow to talk to you again.'_

_'I'm looking forward to it too. Congratulations about your win tonight, but now i really have to go to bed. I need my beauty sleep because I'm meeting a Hollywood actor tomorrow.'_

_'Is that so? Well I hope he don't steal your jewellery.'_

_'I hope so too. Night Tom.'_

_'Night, darlek.'_

I laughed. He was probably going to be mortified when he read through this discussion again.

_'Good night, Captain Hammered.'_

 


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

As I waited outside my building for him, I debated the wisdom of having lugged the painting box down four flights of stairs, thinking that maybe I should wait for Tom, but I was a grown woman and I did not want to start out first meeting by asking for help. He had already done more than enough for me. Besides, he probably had one hell of a hangover to contend with.

One canvas isn’t very heavy but six large ones, all slotted into a plywood painting carrying case, was damn heavy, so by the time I made it down stairs, I was hot and a teeny bit sweaty. With anyone else, that would be fine but I was meeting Mr Hollywood, who spent his life surrounded by beautiful, nubile young women, with an army of makeup artists and beauticians to make them look good.

Me? I was lucky if I remembered to shave my legs once week.

I had kept my outfit simple, a knee length black woollen dress that skimmed my figure, black leggings and ankle boots. The only colour was a wide, red belt. I thought I looked passable. I’d left my long hair down for a change, I normally wear it up so it doesn’t get covered in paint.

Tom arrived in a Jaguar, making me rethink having accepted his offer; the box wouldn’t exactly fit in the back seat.

Still, when he got out of the car and smiled at me, I forgot to worry.

“Harri?” He asked, as if he hadn’t already seem my face on webcam. Or maybe he was just puzzled by the fact that I scrubbed up pretty well.

I nodded as he rounded the car, then he bent down to kiss my cheek, making me worry about how sweaty I was.

“You must be freezing out here without a coat.”

“I’m fine,” I smiled, hoping I didn’t look like a grinning fool. “Carrying this kept me warm.”

I patted the wooden case. Although it had handles, it was five feet by four. He looked at the box, then at my building.

“What floor do you live on?”

“Top.”

“You should have waited for me, I’d have helped you.”

I shrugged. “Will it fit in your car?”

“Should be fine,” he smiled, lifting the box and taking it to his boot. When he opened it, I could see that not only was the boot larger and deep than it looked, he’d put the back seat down, giving enough room to slip the box in.

“You don’t have to be so delicate,” I said, trying to find a way to help him but he seemed to have it covered. He was stronger than he looked, at first glance. “Everything’s covered in bubble wrap and secured in polystyrene grooves.”

“Still, better safe than sorry,” he said, winking at me.

Once the box was in, he closed the boot and turned to me, a small smile playing on his lips.

I didn’t know what to say, nor did he, presumably, and I blushed under his scrutiny. Then suddenly he seemed to snap out of his stupor.

“Come on, we’d better get going, in case traffic’s bad.”

He followed me around to the passenger side and opened my door for me.

“Thank you for taking me,” I said when he got in.

“Not a problem, darling.”

As we drove away, I was lost for words, having no idea how to speak to someone like him. It was easier over the phone where, although I knew who he was, I wasn’t reminded of it every time I looked at him.

We’d gone a few miles when he reached over and took my hand.

“Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine,” he assured me.

I’d almost forgotten about the gallery but I didn’t tell him that he was the reason I was nervous.

“Thanks.”

I took a deep breath and tried to reconnect with the conversational areas of my brain.

“This is a nice car.” God, could I be any more banal?

“Thanks.” He smirked, which raised my ire somewhat. Was he laughing at me? Smug git!

“How’s your head this morning?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yes, sorry about drunk texting you.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t say anything out of turn.”

His grimace said that he felt differently. “I called you a dalek.”

“I knew what you meant,” I assured him. “You don’t need to worry that I’m so offended I’m going to exterminate you.”

He groaned. “And I brought my ex up. You don’t do that until the third date.”

“Really? I thought you weren’t allowed to have sex until the third date?”

“Is it?” he glanced at me.

“Pretty sure. You’re never supposed to bring up exes.”

“Ever?” he asked.

I laughed. “Only if you care what other people think. Seriously, Tom, you didn’t upset or offend me.”

“Good.” He flashed me a smile.

“So, now I know who you are, can you tell me what you were working on the other week?”

“Oh why not, the cats out of the bag anyway, thanks to Idris. Reshoots for the Avengers.”

“The next one?”

“Yes. And that’s all I can say, so please don’t ask.”

I smiled. “Please tell me? Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with cherries on top?”

“No.” He was trying to hide his smile.

“Pretty please with chocolate sprinkles and whipped cream on top?”

“No.”

I kept that up until he suddenly pulled over.

“We’re here?” It was too soon, I wasn’t ready.

“We’re here,” he confirmed, pointing to a shop front a few doors down.

“Oh God.”

He reached out and squeezed my hand. “Hey, you have nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I have faith in you.”

I began to shake.

“You’ve done this before, though, haven’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, but I expected rejection then. This time I have hope, so it’ll hurt all the more when I’m rejected.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Can we go home?”

He reached out and took my other hand, turning in his seat for forcing me to turn towards him.

“Look at me.” His voice was soft but there was no mistaking the command.

Slowly I raised my gaze to his and once I had, he put both my hands in one of his and reached out with his other to cup my cheek.

“You are a bright, beautiful, talented young woman. Your work is amazing and will speak for itself.”

I nodded slightly.

“Say it back to me.” Another command, but I couldn’t bring myself to obey this one. “Say it, ‘my work is amazing and will speak for itself’.”

“My work is amazing and will speak for itself,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“My work is amazing and will speak for itself.”

“Louder.

“My work is amazing and will speak for itself!”

He grinned. “That’s right. Now get the hell out of my car.”

I laughed a little and nodded my thanks. He met my by the boot and got the box out, intending to carry it for me.

“It’s okay, I can take it from here,” I assured him.

“But it’s heavy.”

“I’ve managed this long without you, lover boy, I think I can go a few more minutes.”

He conceded with a smug smile and handed the box over. “Go get ‘em.”

With a deep breath, I picked up the case and strode purposely towards the gallery.

***

Tom was resting against the car when I came out, his long legs stretched out before him ankles crossed.

I tried to keep the smile from my lips, I wanted to make him believe I’d been rejected but my happiness could not contained.

His own smile widened when he saw me emerge empty handed and he stepped towards me, closing the distance between us.

“Well?”

“I’m in the exhibition!” I yelled, throwing my arms around him.

He hugged me tightly, lifting my feet off the ground.

“That’s amazing! I told you that you could do it.”

“Thank you,” I sniffed.

“All I did was make an introduction, you did the hard work.”

I squeezed him tightly, then relaxed before I could begin to cry. I did not need my mascara running today of all days. He released me and before either of us could step back, our eyes locked and our smiles faded. I was pretty sure he was about to kiss me, when I shivered.

“You must be freezing,” he said, slipping his coat off and around my shoulders.

I was a little upset that the moment was over, I think I would have frozen solid before willingly leaving his embrace.

“But now you’ll be cold.”

He grinned. “There’s a little bistro down the street; we can both warm up in there, get some food, and you can tell me all about it. What do you think?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We fell into step beside one another and he took my hand. I felt as nervous as a teenager on her first date, but it was a good kind of nervous, the exciting kind.

Both of us tried to discreetly look at the other, each smiling when we were caught.

This whole day felt like a dream but if it was, I never wanted to wake up.

***

“So, tell me about the exhibition,” Tom demanded as we waited for our main courses. I’d finished my first glass of wine now and had noticeably relaxed, so I was happy to chat normally.

“It’s a superhero exhibit that he’s putting on in February and he wants to include six of my pieces!”

“Is that good?”

“I’d be lucky to have one included, so yes it’s fantastic.”

“So I take it he’s kept your paintings for it?” he must have noticed that I’d left without the case.

“Actually, Mike only liked two of the canvases I brought, the other four will have to be new, so I said I’d have a selection ready for him to choose from in January.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like Mike had insulted me.

“You should be,” I teased. “Someone bought all my favourite works and then convinced me to visit galleries again, so I’d been painting mostly non-geeky things.”

He frowned, unsure how to react.

“Three of the ones he didn’t like were older pieces,” I explained. “I knew they weren’t my best but I’d only had time to replace Iron Man and Loki, and I had a second Loki one that I painted fairly recently so he picked his favourite of the two. He has a special van to transport and collect paintings, so he said he’d have ones he doesn’t want delivered back to me.”

“That’s amazing,” he smiled warmly at me.

“Well, I have you to thank for it really. He said you’d showed him all ten of the paintings you ordered and his decision was mainly based on them.”

“I told you I didn’t buy them out of charity, didn’t I?”

I smiled and blushed under his praise, finally believing him.

“So does this mean no more pet portraits?” he asked.

“Oh no, I am not giving that gig up yet. It might not be respected but it’s supported me for years. Besides, just because Mike likes my work, doesn’t mean his customers will buy them.”

“You’re rather pessimistic,” he said, which made me grin.

“I am not!” I argued. “Did you not feel that hug I gave you out there?”

“Oh believe me, I recall every detail,” he practically purred.

The charming bastard.

“My point is that I’m thrilled but I’m also a realist, and I won’t count my chickens before they’ve hatched. I’ll bet you’ve had auditions that you thought went brilliantly, then you didn’t get the part, right? I mean clearly whoever did the casting was insane, but no one wins all the time.”

“Very true,” he nodded. “And thank you for the compliment.”

“Oh come on, you know I love your work.”

“I know you love Loki, that’s all you’ve said.”

“I thought you liked me because I deflate your ego, not inflate it.”

Tom smirked. “True.”

“Besides, I don’t think I’ve seen anything else you’ve been in.”

“Really?”

“Oh, there was Wallander. Although Magnus and Loki look so different, I wouldn’t have put it together if you hadn’t mentioned it.”

“War horse?”

“I’m saving that. I haven’t been depressed enough to subject myself to two hours of misery yet.”

“Midnight in Paris.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a Woody Allen film.”

“Nope, sorry. I don’t watch Woody Allen films.”

He frowned in confusion and I knew he was about to see the militant side of me. I wondered if he could accept it.

“I believe his daughter, Dylan, and I believed Mia Farrow long before she spoke out. All he’s done is re-victimise that girl by calling her a liar and publically calling her crazy, which makes what he did even worse, if that’s possible, so I won’t give him any of my money. Same goes for Roman Polanski. I don’t care how good it is, I refuse to watch it.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“For what it’s worth, that’s my personal belief system and I don’t hold other people to it. Everyone has to answer to their own conscience. Although in fairness, if you _worked_ with him again, I can't promise I’d be okay with that. In fact, I wouldn’t be okay with it. I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel.”

“You feel very strongly about this, don’t you?”

I nodded. “I know people who have been abused, as children and adults. I’m even related to someone and I’ve seen first have how she still lived with that every day of her life. So yes, I feel very strongly about it. And I’m not sorry.”

“To be quite frank, I’s heard the rumours but I honestly hadn’t given it much thought before.”

“Most people don’t,” I assured him. “Ignorance is bliss, after all, and I can't blame them. I can't say there aren’t times when I wish I didn’t know what I know. But I do know it and I can't change that. All I can do is live my life in a way that is true to me and what I believe.”

“It clearly means a lot to you so I’ll definitely give it some thought,” he said. “Do some research. On Polanski too, I didn’t think his crime was that bad, was it?”

“Be plea bargained down to a lesser change because the victim’s family didn’t want her to go through a trial, but I can find you the link to the grand jury testimony, then you can decide for yourself if he’s a victim or a monster.”

“Please do. Can you email it to me?”

“Of course. Now let’s get onto happier topics,” I did not want our first meeting to be all about the evil than men do. “So, what else have you been in?”

“The Deep Blue Sea.”

“Are we talking Rattigan or sharks?”

“Rattigan.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“On the stage?”

“Yeah. Which production were you in?”

“I was in the film version.”

“I don’t think I saw that.”

“Only Lovers Left Alive?”

“Is that the vampire love story one?”

“That’s it.”

“I think Kerry said I should try it but I’ve kind of gone off vampire films recently. Sorry.”

“Well…” he paused to think for a while. “You don’t like Shakespeare so how about Cranford?”

“You were in that?”

“The second season, Return to Cranford.”

“Who were you?”

“William Buxton.”

I frowned, trying to remember. “I’m not good with names, what did he do?”

“He’s the one who rejects his father’s beliefs and goes to work on the railway.”

“And is in love with the girl his father thinks is beneath him?”

“That’s him!” He grinned.

“I loved him, he was perfect! I can't believe that was you!”

His grin widened.

“So you haven’t looked through IMDb or Netflix for me then?” He sounded sceptical that I had seen so little.

“I wouldn’t let myself,” I explained. “I liked you before I knew who you were, and you didn’t want me to know your name because you didn’t want me to change how I behaved around you.” I was almost afraid to continue so my voice was almost a whisper. “I didn’t want what was between us to change either.”

He gave me a warm smile and reached over to take my hand, squeezing it gently.

I smiled back, wishing there wasn’t a table between us.

Our food came then and we made small talk for the rest of the meal. Tom told me about a play he’d seen recently and I told him a bit more about my family, describing my scientist brother, the world’s biggest nerd (he actually had few social skills so the moniker was appropriate) and he was the one responsible for my love of all things geek, my business executive brother, my university lecturer sister and my history professor mother.

“You must be the black sheep to be an artist then.”

“I’m the baby,” I grinned. “I was allowed more leeway than the others.”

I hoped he couldn’t see through my bravado, I did feel like the black sheep, like the failure. The rest of my family were scholarly, even my brother, who also has dyslexia, went into science. Me? Well I doodle for a living. My sister thinks that being an artist is the same as being a painter/decorator. The rest of my family are nice about it but I can't help feeling that they think I’m a failure. My businessman brother always sends me a check instead of birthday and Christmas presents. I haven’t had to cash any for over seven years now but I don’t think he’s noticed.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide with me. Please, we’ve always been honest.”

“Not true, you didn’t tell me who you were.”

“I never lied, I only withheld my name.”

“A lie of omission.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want any pretence between us. Please?”

I was granted a few moments respite as the waitress came to take our plates; we turned down desert but accepted coffees.

The silence stretched out once she had gone and I knew he was going to keep silent until I spoke. It’s a trick psychologists and interrogators use; it makes people uncomfortable and more likely to open up.

“You just…” I sighed. “You’re so confident.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve seen some of your Thor interviews and behind the scenes stuff, and you always come across as exceptionally self-possessed. I’m just a needy mass of insecurities. Why would you want to be friends with someone like me?”

“Darling, you aren’t needy, you’re one of the bravest people I know.”

My jaw slackened in shock, probably in a comical way and certainly in an unattractive way.

“People like me have it easy,” he continued. “I don’t claim to be a scholar but I’ve certainly never been made to feel the way you do. Despite that, despite everything, you found something you’re brilliant at and you found a way to make it pay. You could easily have given up and got an office job but you didn’t, and I think your pet portraits are fantastic because they show your determination to do something you love.”

“They’re just-”

“No, I’ve seen the high definition pictures on your site, you put as much work into them as you do into your other paintings.”

“Jasper’s different, he’s-”

“Don’t do that, they are other people’s words, the people who undermined your confidence, the people who didn’t believe in you. I believe in you, darling. And I honestly don’t care if you enjoy Shakespeare or not, I have enough friends to share that with.”

I didn’t know how to reply to I stayed silent.

“I’ll tell you why I want to be your fiend, shall I? First, you love your family and are fiercely protective of them. That’s a quality I deeply admire.”

I smiled, remembering the insults I’d hurled at him when I thought he was dating my mother.

“Second, I know you’re intelligent and seem well read, despite your learning difficulty.”

“You can't know that-”

“I can and I do. You told me about how you learned to love reading and I can tell from your vocabulary that you’re well read. I know from our conversations that you’re intelligent and insightful; in just one watch of Much Ado and you grasped things that even I didn’t see on one reading.”

I was pretty sure that I was beet red by now, my cheeks were burning.

“Finally, I know you have a good heart.”

“You can't possibly know that. For all you know, I spend my free time kicking stray puppies stealing from charity tins.”

“People who kick puppies don’t avoid certain directors because they disagree with their crimes, and they don’t start to cry when I tell them they are my friend.”

“I disagree, call any fan up and tell them you want to be their friend, I’ll bet there are more than a few tears.”

“Maybe,” he smirked at me. “But I know I’m right.”

“Really?”

“You said it yourself, darling, I’m confident, which means I’m supremely confident in my assessment of your character and nothing you do or say will convince me otherwise.”

He was goading me and I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he did understand more than I gave him credit for.

“You want to wipe this smile off my face now, don’t you?”

“You smug git.”

“Guilty as charged.” He laughed.

I narrowed my eyes but the smile on my lips rather spoiled my attempt at glare.

The waitress retuned with our coffees and the bill and once she’d left, Tom continued.

“I’m also supremely confident that when I ask, you’ll go out on a date with me.”

I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. “And what if I say no?”

“I know where you live now, so I’ll camp outside you door until you agree.”

“I won’t buzz you in.”

“One of your neighbours will, or I’ll wait for them to go inside. I’m sure they’ll hold the door open for me. We’re British, it’s only polite, after all.”

“But you don’t know what apartment I live in.”

“I know it’s the top floor, I’m sure one of your neighbours will tell me which one is yours.”

“Oh, and why would they tell a total stranger that?”

“Because I’m Tom Hiddleston, darling, and at least one of them must know me and hopefully, like me. Even if not, I’m hardly likely to be a stalker, now am I?”

“I’ll call the tabloids.”

He shrugged. “If I don’t give them a story, they’ll just make one up. Last year they made up a secret wedding, at least the story of my stalking of a talented, up and coming artist will be true.”

I’d run out of excuses and he knew it.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you making a fool of yourself, so I guess I’d better say yes.”

“You know, I haven’t _actually_ asked yet.”

I shook my head incredulously. “You charming bastard!”

He grinned. “Now about that date, how do you feel about costume parties?”

“Pretending to be someone else… it’s certainly original for a first date, I’ll give you that.”

“So you’ll go with me?”

“I suppose.”

“Such enthusiasm!” He clutched his heart, as if genuinely touched.

I rolled my eyes at his antics and reached for the bill, but my hand landed on his.

“Uh uh, this one’s on me,” I told him.

“Darling, A gentleman always pays for dinner.”

“This isn’t dinner and I’m not a charity case. I owe you for this introduction and I want to thank you by buying you lunch.”

“Fine, the next one is on me.”

“Great. And the one after that will be on me.”

 “Very well, if you insist,” He huffed, then suddenly brightened.

“What?” I asked, leaving cash in the bill fold.

“That’s at least two more dates you’ve agreed to.” He sounded like a kid at Christmas and I had to admit, I felt rather the same way about him.

We stood up and he put his coat around my shoulders again. I was about to protest but obviously he could see it coming.

“The car isn’t far,” he assured me.

He offered his arm, which I took and we left the bistro.

“So, when is this party?” I asked.

“It’s this Saturday, it’s Christmas themed so anything from an elf to the snow queen.”

“You’re not exactly giving me much time to find a costume here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got contacts who can find you a killer costume. What dress size are you?”

I gasped. “First you ask my age, now my dress size? I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman!”

He laughed. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to guess.” He stepped away and his gaze roamed slowly over my figure, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hmm,” he muttered approvingly.

“You should take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I teased. Honestly, I kind of enjoyed his appreciation, it made me feel like the prettiest woman in the world.

Tom however, took my words to heart.

“Fantastic idea!” and the next thing I knew, he had whipped his phone out and was snapping a picture. I grabbed at it playfully but he was taller than me and his arms much longer.

I soon gave up and pouted, at which point he angled the phone towards us both.

“Let’s take a selfie.”

He made it sound like the most exciting thing ever and I couldn’t help but smile at him. Although I hadn’t agreed, he put his head near mine and snapped it, then slipped his phone into his trouser pocket.

“Don’t I get to see it?”

“Nope.” He gave me that smug smile again.

“What if I look ugly in it?”

“Then I shall keep it to remind me how hard you work to attain your usual beauty.”

I laughed as I elbowed him in the ribs. Yep, he was definitely a charming bastard.

 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

On the night of the party, Tom sent a car to pick me up because he’d be working late. I was glad because the dress he’d found for me was a Cinderella costume (which after all the pantomime donkey jokes I’d make, I kind of deserved). It was actually lovely, if rather unwieldy to wear on public transport.

A beautiful black town car came to collect me and while it might not have been a horse drawn carriage, I certainly felt like a princess heading to the ball. I just hoped I wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin come midnight.

The dress was white and gold, with a pinched, corseted waist and a massive skirt, kind of Georgian in style. I also had a beautiful blonde wig and it was kind of cool to see myself with light hair.

We pulled up at night club that had been hired out for the night and the driver helped me from the car which wasn’t just nice, it was necessary with my massive dress and hair. I thanked him and headed up to the entrance, which was roped off to keep the paparazzi back.

Tom had warned me that they might be here but there wasn’t a red carpet, so posing wasn’t necessary (unless I wanted to, which I certainly did not). With my head held as high as I could manage, I headed to the doorman.

“Name please?” he smiled at me.

“Uh, Harri Calder. Harriett Calder.”

He checked his clipboard.

“I’m sorry miss, you’re not on the list.”

Panic infused my whole body. “No, I am, Tom said he’d put me down because he might be late.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I can’t let you in.” He was perfectly nice but obviously he didn’t believe me.

Jesus, he probably thought I was some stalker chick chancing my arm. I don’t think I have ever been so humiliated. And in front of the photographers. Right now the fact that I didn’t look like me was a small comfort.

I turned for the car but it had driven off and new people were exiting their vehicles. I went to reach for my bag to text Tom, but I realised I must have left it in the car.

In under a minute, my night had gone from magical fairytale to fiasco, and I couldn’t even enjoy the fact that Robert Downey Jr was walking past me. I paused by the kerb but I had no idea how long I’d have to wait for Tom, he’d given the impression that he might be up to an hour late, so I decided to go home. At least I could contact him from there.

I had to walk some way down the road because I wouldn’t be able to hail a cab in all the melee around the entrance. I couldn’t pay for the cab of course, but I had some cash at home so hopefully he’d wait for me to go inside and get money. London cabbies were usually nice.

I raised my hand to hail a few passing cabs but I think I was still so close to the commotion outside the club, that the drivers were distracted and didn’t notice me.

I continued walking, my eyes stinging with tears but I refused to cry. What did expect, really? I was a nobody and I didn’t fit in with Tom’s circle. I shouldn’t have come tonight because I clearly, it was a huge mistake and I was deluded. It was a mistake to ever believe I could be worthy of someone like him, he was so… so perfect and I was just little old me.

“Harri! Harri, wait!”

I turned at the voice and saw Tom running towards me and I’m not afraid to say, I was elated.

“Darling, where are you going?” he asked as he caught up with me.

“They wouldn’t let me in, they said I wasn’t on the list.”

“You should have called me.”

“I would have, except I left my phone in the car you sent, and I didn’t know where he had gone to get it back.”

“I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s not your fault,” I smiled.

“I’m sure he’ll find your handbag soon but just in case, I’ll call the company and let them know, make sure whoever picks us up this evening has it, okay?”

I nodded at my knight in shining armour and watched as he sorted what seemed like insurmountable odds to little old me, with just a few sentences.

Mind you, I would not usually be stopped by the loss of my bag, it was only Tom’s mobile phone that gave him the problem solving edge.

“Your driver will collect us,” Tom said once he had hung up, “and he promises to guard your purse with his life in the meantime.”

He was so cheesy sometimes, but it was all part of his charm.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, darling.”

“What are you dressed as?” I asked, noticing the epaulettes and tails on his jacket.

“Prince Charming Bastard,” he answered. “At your service.”

I laughed. “Could you be any more perfect?”

He grinned. “Come on, let’s get inside, you must be freezing out here.”

I laughed with relief, the tears that had been threatening earlier finally spilling over. Tom noticed immediately.

“You’re upset.”

“I’m happy,” I assured him. “Thanks to you, my night has gone from pitiful to perfect.”

“Not quite perfect,” he said, growing serious. “Not for me.”

Oh God, had I done something wrong? “Why not?”

He was inching closer to me, lowering his head slightly.

“Because ever since we first spoke, I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to kiss you and as of yet, I haven’t.”

There was nothing I wanted more. “We could fix that,” I said breathlessly.

His nose was a couple of inches from mine now and I could smell his aftershave, something warm, spicy and slightly sweet.

“That’s what I intend to do, starting right now.”

Then he was kissing me. It was soft at first, hesitant and questioning, then he kissed me again, slightly more forcefully. I finally responded, I think he’d frozen my brain again for a moment. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him to me and deepening the kiss.

Kissing him was like all of my favourite memories combined and wrapped up with an edible chocolate bow.

Then he pulled away and I whimpered in unhappiness.

“Always leave them wanting more,” he said in that honeyed voice of his.

“That’s not fair,” I pouted.

“You’re shivering,” he explained, as if I hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t care.”

“I do. The night is young, Harri, we’ll have plenty of time to continue this.”

He moved to step away but I grabbed his lapels and hauled him closer again.

“You’re really mean,” I told him.

“Am I?”

“Yes. You can’t kiss a girl like that and just end it.”

“Well, I could take you here in the street, but there’s rather a large throng of photographers just down there and they’re bound to notice eventually.”

“I don’t care.” I pulled on his lapels and he lowered his head enough that I could kiss him, and kiss him I did.

It gave me a thrill that when I finally released him, he looked as dazed as he made me feel.

“Um, wow, that, uh, that was…”

I hoped my smile didn’t look as smug as it felt.

“Come on, Prince Charming, I think we could both use a drink.”

“Right, party, yes.” He offered me his arm, which I took. “This way, my lady.”

This time the photographers were interested in me, or at least, in who I was with, but I couldn’t worry about them. It was hard to worry about anything when I was around Tom.

“You can go in, sir, but your companion isn’t on the list.” The bouncer gave me a look that said he wasn’t impressed with my finding someone else to help me gain entrance.

“Can you check again,” Tom asked. “Harriet Calder.”

He looked over the list, slightly disgruntled to have been questioned. “She isn’t here, Sir.”

“She was a late addition, would you mind checking the end of the list, in case she wasn’t added alphabetically?”

With a sigh, he did, and Tom manoeuvred to the side of him so he could see the list.

“There she is,” Tom pointed and grinned.

The bouncer looked contrite and nodded at me. “My apologies, Ma’am.”

I shyly nodded my acceptance, knowing that I had felt that I didn’t belong here, so I could hardly blame him for feeling the same.

“No real harm done,” Tom assured him. “Come on, darling.”

The bouncer held the door open for us as we entered.

It was busy inside, with people milling around everywhere but Tom had clearly been here before and guided me straight to the bar, while I could hardly see through the throng.

“A drink will soon warm you up,” he said, flashing me a smile. “Do you like whisky?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“That’s a good idea, I should try that. In the meantime…?”

“Yes, I drink whisky, on the rocks, but not often.”

He got the barman’s attention and ordered two double Jameson’s.

“Two doubles? My, you really do want to get laid.”

“One shot for the cold, one for your nerves, and the double one is for me, a little Dutch courage.”

“Shame, I was looking forward to getting laid,” I pouted in what I hoped was a sexy manner.

His response was to laugh, so I wasn’t sure if I had been successful, until he bent closer to my ear and whispered “Oh, don’t worry, darling, you will.”

Our drinks were placed before us and I sipped mine as we moved away.

“Hey, Tom, good to see you.”

Robert Downey Jr said as he stopped him. They hugged in greeting.

“And who is this fine creature?” He asked, taking my hand.

“Cinderella, my girlfriend,” Tom grinned. “But she sometimes goes by Harri.”

Girlfriend? I wasn’t about to correct him but hearing it said aloud made me as giddy as a teenager on her first date with her crush.

Robert took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Charmed, my dear.”

“No, he’s prince charming,” I answered, pointing my thumb at Tom. I was _so_ not cool.

“I wondered at the ridiculous outfit. How is that Christmassy though?”

“Christmas panto is a British tradition,” Tom explained, “and Cinderella is a staple.”

“I don’t think I want to know what a ‘panto’ is. It sounds kinky.”

“Who are you supposed to be?” Tom asked, taking in the bright red business suit and white piping. He even had a red fedora with white trim. He looked rather like the red Liberace of gangsters.

“I’m Santa,” Robert answered, as of it should be obvious. “But with a twenty first century makeover,” he conceded. “I don’t really do costume parties, this was as close as Susan could get me to wearing one.”

“I like it,” I admitted. Well, I did… now that I knew what it was.

“Is this the girl you told me about?” Robert asked.

They talked about me?

“One and the same,” Tom grinned.

“Then it truly is a pleasure to meet you,” he smiled at me. “Tom hasn’t shut up about you. Now you two are an item, I’m hoping he’ll chill out a little.”

I blushed.

“Oh, and your artwork is lovely, by the way.”

Why couldn’t the floor open up and swallow me? “You saw it?”

“It was my Christmas present from Tom. I know, it’s not Christmas yet but I suck at waiting. Sorry, not sorry.”

Tom laughed. “Somehow, I suspected you wouldn’t wait. 

* * *

 

[Tom’s point of view]

I watched Harri for most of the night, sneaking glances when I dared and outwardly staring when I had the opportunity. I didn’t care if she thought I was weird.

I had never encountered someone like her before, she was unique. She thought that made her weird. I thought it made her special.

There was no one quality that she possessed that was exclusive to her, rather it was the combination and contradiction of qualities that was unique to her. And I do mean contradiction; she is a mass of them.

She’s beautiful, with the sort of face that could grace cat walks. Unlike many beautiful women though, she appears to give only a cursory thought to her appearance. I don’t think she ever wore makeup when we chatted on webcam and she frequently had a smudge of paint on her face. She only wore a touch of mascara and lipstick when we went to the gallery and tonight, when she knew she’s be surrounded by celebrities, her makeup was simple; she has some power on her fact but I know she isn’t wearing foundation, because I can see her freckles.

Then there’s her art. The woman is seriously talented and I was surprised to find myself emotionally moved my pop culture paintings. I couldn’t say how she does it, but she not only captured the mood of each Avenger, she made the viewer experience it too. Yet she talks like she is some talentless hack; she has no idea how much I admire her talent.

Which leads me nicely into her esteem issues. She sees herself as dumb and uneducated, but I see a woman whose breath of knowledge staggers me. Perhaps she didn’t do well in school but she clearly educated herself, perhaps through reading. She once confided that she can read a book a day when she is so inclined, and I believe her. I can't wait to go to her apartment and see what’s on her book shelves.

Earlier this evening she explained the results of a study she had read on the mind of introverts and extraverts; apparently the differences are either caused by or result in different brain chemistry. That led to me mentioning recent studies on the brains of serial killers, showing structural differences in their brains. She knew exactly the area of research that I was speaking of and we philosophised on what the ability to spot potential serial killers before they kill could mean for society. Her insights and intelligence are as razor sharp as her wit.

Her thirst for knowledge surprised me too, she’s always asking questions, asking why, how and when. Despite having no interest in acting, she wants to know how I work, and why I work that way.

When it comes to her art she is meek, preferring to hide her light under a bushel. Yet when her family are threatened, she is as fierce as a tigress and there is a fire in her eyes that screams of passion. A passion that I intend to do my utmost to ignite.

I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. The blue paint encrusted in her nail bed didn’t escape my notice, in fact it’s one of those small details that endears her to me, and reminds me that these hands are capable of creating masterpieces.

The thing that makes me most excited to be wither though, is that I know I’ve only scratched the surface of who she is and I can't help but wonder what delights I’ll discover over time. A penchant for Ukrainian folk music? A knowledge of Pliny the Elder (she already mentioned that people used to use ground goat’s bones and goat’s milk as toothpaste, one of his many recommendations).

She allows herself to be fascinated by the world around her and wants to understand as much as she can about almost everything she encounters, no matter how crazy it might sound, and she’s had thirty years of making these discoveries, so I never know what she’ll come out with next.

I hope that one day, she will be able to see herself the way that I see her, and she will realise that the qualities that she think makes her weird or a freak, in reality what makes her exceptional.

“Darling?” I got her attention.

After a few drinks, she had loosened up and was no longer star struck. I probably should have told her that this was the wrap party-cum-Christmas party for reshoots on Age of Ultron, but I really wanted her here and I was worried she might cry off if she knew what this really was.

She had just finished chatting to the costume designer, questioning her on how the metal embellishments on the costumes were made and before she got into conversation with someone else, I wanted to claim her for myself. Pulling on her hand, I guided her to the edge of the room, behind a booth where we wouldn’t have an audience, and proceeded to kiss her senseless.

After quite a few minutes of that, she pulled away.

“What time is it?”

“Um, about nine thirty, maybe.”

“Is it too early to politely duck out?”

I smiled wolfishly and I think she must have seen my desire as she gasped softly.

“Never,” I assured her. “Besides, everyone here will soon be too drunk to know when they left, let alone us.”

“Call the driver,” she instructed but as I took my phone out and placed the call, she began to kiss my neck and jaw, giving me some very impure thoughts.

Somehow I managed to get through the call without groaning with need but it was a close run thing.

“You are very naughty,” I said once I’d hug up.

She pulled away and looked at me, her eyes shining with mischief. I was definitely going to have my hands full with her. I couldn’t wait.

 

 


End file.
